Stained
by iratepirate
Summary: TF Prime: History repeats itself and Arcee is left looking for someone to blame. But is blame seen through blinded optics fair?
1. Stained

_Wow, so it's been a disgustingly long time since I updated any of my solo work on this site, and what do I go and do? Write a new fic that I probably won't update for a disgustingly long time. Ahh, but what can you do, plot bunnies will not be ignored. This is actually the first of what I hope will be many TF Prime-based fics; I have decidedly fallen for the series and am feeling more inspired than I have for a very long time (in my humble opinion, it's the best universe since G1). I haven't had a lot of experience writing the Autobots, even less with these new characterisations, so bear with me if things feel a bit clunky to start with. _

_Before we get started, I just want to say a massive thank you to my dear friend and partner in crime Taipan Kiryu – without her fics for inspiration, her extremely valuable help and advice, and not to mention persistent threats that if I don't hurry up and write something I'll regret it, this fic would not have seen the light of day. Thank you, sis._

**Chapter 1**

**Stained**

_It had been a split second decision. Transform and expose Jack to the magma-like slag destined to explode about them, or scoop him into her arms and use her body as a shield for his fragile flesh._

_She had scooped him into her arms._

_And then the temperature had dropped and the shockwave rolled outwards, bringing with it a heat and pain Arcee had never imagined._

_The universe itself had roared in her audios as she was thrown forwards, and then...nothing._

* * *

><p>Someone was screaming.<p>

It was the only sound she could recognise within the painful chaos of darkness; a horrible, energon-curdling cry of terror echoing in amongst the white noise of static and pain.

As her sensors began to slowly online, Arcee became aware of a warmth beneath her; a wet, sticky warmth that seemed to conform to her body shape and leached up into the joints and seams of her armour. Liquid-hot agony seared through her as she attempted to move away from the invasive sensation, only to find that something was pinning her down, crushing her, compounding the pain and hastening the intrusion.

"_Shhhh...shhhh..."_

Arcee squirmed under the weight of her unknown captor, her arm clawing wildly at the shadows in a desperate attempt to find purchase. If only she could find something to hold on to, something to use to pull herself free so she could put an end to that terrible screaming.

If only it would stop, and give her a chance to think.

"_Shhh...on, Arcee, we'll...out of there...moment..."_

Someone was talking to her, concern and reassurance hanging in the air along with that accursed screaming, a hushed counterpoint to the agonized symphony in the darkness. Arcee reached out to it, and to her surprise felt it take hold of her hand, squeezing firmly.

"_Hurry, Bulk...internal...sparkpulse weaken..."_

Where was she? What was happening to her?

Why couldn't the blasted screamer just shut up so she could hear what was being said?

"_...going...fast as I...chet."_

"_Any sign of...?"_

"_Negative...sorry..."_

Two more voices joined the first, both carrying a note of panic not present in the first. She couldn't be sure, but Arcee thought she recognised them; why couldn't her optics just online and be done with the guessing games?

" _Shhh...not much longer, Arcee..."_ the first voice spoke again.

Something moved beside her, and suddenly the weight pinning her down lessened slightly. Instinctively, Arcee began struggle again, sharpening the daggers of pain twisting relentlessly in her chassis and spreading the horrible, damp warmth beneath her. The screaming that continued to ring in her audios intensified, threatening to drown out all other noise within and without.

Linked to the voice, the invisible hand tightened its grip on her. Why did it continue hushing her, couldn't it hear the screaming that belonged to the darkness; why not tell _it_ to be quiet?

It was maddening; just _shut up_ already!

Her throat began to hurt as she attempted to shoo away that demanding hand, but despite her efforts it held to her vehemently. A second hand joined it, and seemed to pry open a panel on her arm, triggering a cool rush through her fuel lines a moment later. Arcee gasped in response, and then choked, and suddenly, the world was almost silent.

The screaming had stopped.

_Her_ screaming had stopped.

A new sensation of numbness took hold of her as the silence extended, drowning out all but the voices around her. She felt weightless as fragments of lost conversations drifted in and out of her fading consciousness, words without meaning; strange anchors in the darkness. The weight upon her body disappeared, and a cool breeze seemed to dance over her plating, setting it alight with renewed pain.

Someone whispered to Primus in the world beyond her dark, evaporating existence.

Had she been able to, she would have cried out in agony. But for some reason her body was no longer responding, and not even that scream she had loathed just some moments ago could ease her now.

"_...no wonder she was screaming..."_

"_Ratchet, look...beneath her... Is that..."_

The voices...what were they saying?

The grip on her hand suddenly disappeared and a sense of abandonment filled her in her fading moments. The hand was gone, and soon so too would the voices. Something began to pound in her audios as the dense fog of nothingness prepared to swallow her completely.

"_By the All Spark...no..."_

And then, as predicted, she was alone.

Oblivion had never been more welcomed.

* * *

><p>That same warm, damp feeling from the darkness returned to her chest and abdomen, dragging her slowly into the realm of consciousness. But it was moving this time, in slow, soothing circles over her plating, as if someone was polishing her.<p>

Arcee focussed on the sensation, lost and confused. She felt a fine line of liquid sliding down her waist, dripping to the surface beneath her with a patter that seemed louder than it should have been.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

And then suddenly, something interrupted the flow. A slick but careful movement, metal against metal, like a finger catching the trickle.

Someone was touching her.

Reflexively she flinched, and was assaulted with a wave of excruciating pain for her efforts. A gurgled murmur of agony escaped her without warning, automatically drawn from her rebooting systems.

"Easy there, Arcee, you're safe now," a voice said from somewhere above her, and the movement on her abdomen gave way to a warm, damp hold on her forearm.

Yet the input from her sensors refused to give those minor details the attention they deserved; they had recognised pain and now it welled up inside her like acid, demanding and obnoxious like a petulant sparkling wanting its own way. Arcee's cooling fans kicked on, sucking air through her vents like they were somehow suffocating. Her plating felt as if it were on fire, her protoform itself crawling.

Seemingly on a time delay, her processors began to work a little clearer, suddenly recognising the voice.

"R-ratchet?"

"I'm here, Arcee, just relax." His hold on her arm was firm and comforting, like the disembodied hand from the darkness.

"Ahhhh...ahh scrap..." she groaned, writhing on the unforgiving surface beneath her in an attempt to find relief.

"Easy there, Arcee," Ratchet spoke again, his strong, gentle hands moving to her shoulders and holding her still. The warm dampness followed his right hand. "You've sustained a lot of damage and you don't want to go and undo all my hard work, do you?"

Arcee onlined her optics, the foggy image of the Autobot medic swimming slowly into view. He smiled at her, a faint look of relief colouring his features. "Welcome back. Now, are you going to stay still, or do I have to keep holding you down?"

"Ughhh...that...depends..." Arcee groaned out through gritted denta plates, "do you...have any stronger pain...killers..."

An imitation of a sigh escaped the medic's vents as he released his patient and stepped back, Arcee's groggy optics following the path of the red and white rag in his right hand as it fell to his side. Something about it bothered her, but her addled processor refused to shine a light on the matter.

"I do...and they will have you back offline in no time."

"Good..."

"But," Ratchet continued as he moved a bowl of red liquid from the berth and placed it on a nearby workbench, "I need to run a couple of quick tests on you before I let you rest. Just to make sure everything is as it should be."

Grunting softly, Arcee nodded once in consent. She watched on in silence as Ratchet gathered up a couple of tools before taking his place at her side.

"Okay, follow the light with your optics."

Arcee complied with the medic's requests, ignoring the occasional 'mmhmm' or 'hnn' that escaped his vocaliser. She knew there were probably questions she should have been asking, but pain prevented any thought from solidifying into something remotely coherent. Her optics offlined again, unable – or perhaps, unwilling – to stand the unnerving fog that continued to cloud her vision. Panic began to rise within her spark.

A dark frown creased Arcee's features as she tried to focus on something other than pain or fear. She couldn't help but feel that she was missing something, something important, but any thought on the matter slipped out of her grip like sand from the Nevada desert. An image of the red and white cloth Ratchet had been holding, and the bowl of red liquid, needled its way into her aching processor, demanding attention. It seemed strange that something so small and insignificant could steal her attention from everything else that was tumbling through her head.

"You still with me, Arcee?"

The sudden intrusion of Ratchet's voice startled Arcee out of her thoughts; she onlined her optics and was immediately rewarded with the burning flare of Ratchet's examination lights. "Mmm..." she answered as her arm rose to shield her eyes. "Scrap...bright enough?"

Ratchet grunted in familiar dissent but switched off the lights regardless. "All things considered, your systems seem to be recovering as they should be," he said as he began preparing a sedative line. "I'm going to give you those pain killers now; rest will help speed up the healing process."

Arcee remained silent as she watched the medic insert the line into a port on her arm and checked the various cables attached to her breastplate. Despite his abrupt demeanour, there was never any doubting his care and compassion when it came to his patients.

A faint smile twitched at Arcee's lips as she felt the cooling rush of the painkillers invading her system. It was only slight, but the instant decrease in agony was a welcomed change.

A question suddenly dawned on her – why was she in the med bay?

Her vents hitched at the unexpected thought, and panic once again made itself known to her.

"Arcee?" Ratchet said as he looked up from his work with concern. "What is it?"

"Uuuggh...I...what... What happened to me?"

The medic stopped what he was doing and took hold of Arcee's forearm. There was that comforting grip again. "You don't remember?"

The femme frowned again, locking her optics with Ratchet's as she wracked her memory banks for even a hint of the truth. She could feel the sedatives slowly working to drag her back into oblivion, but despite the pain she refused to let go until she understood.

_The door finally gave way to reveal a vast hangar littered with the wrecks of a dozen human war planes. In the centre of the room, set up in a space which appeared to have been purposely cleared, was a computer monitor sitting atop a device which looked strangely familiar. Transforming her left arm into a blaster, she approached the display cautiously, listening out for anything other than the sound of her companion's footsteps behind her._

_She was only a few mechano metres from the screen when suddenly it came to life, only to display a count-down clock. She paused, and then suddenly realised her mistake._

_She knew exactly what that device was..._

"There was an explosion," Ratchet said solemnly, assuming no answer was forthcoming. "We found you under the rubble at ground zero."

Arcee's vents hitched again as darkness began to prickle around the edges of her vision; she could feel herself slipping into unconsciousness with every passing astrosecond. "An...an explosion..." she muttered weakly in agreement as the memory began to coagulate in her processor. "I...I remember now...a...slag bomb..."

"Yes, that's what our preliminary reports suggested, as did your injuries." Ratchet's hand drifted to Arcee's as he sat carefully on the edge of the berth. "You suffered significant burns on your back, which have penetrated your armour and damaged your protoform. I have treated them as best I can, but as with any protoform injury they will take time to heal. I'm afraid they will be very painful during that time."

"That...explains...a lot..." Arcee said humourlessly, her optics dimming as her body began to offline.

"Your left leg was also amputated by the blast, at the knee," Ratchet continued, watching his comrade – and friend – struggling against the drugs he had given her. "As you know, limbs can be reattached relatively easily, but you will need to give me a few cycles to rebuild the joint first. Do you understand what I'm saying, Arcee?"

She nodded, closing her eyes as she did so without even a thought of glancing down at her damaged leg.

_She stepped backwards as she stared in momentary disbelief at the image before her...no...surely she wouldn't have stooped so low. But her optics didn't lie, and as the clock continued to count down she realised she only had one option._

"I can see the pain killers are starting to work on you, so unless you have any questions, I'll let you rest."

"Mmmm..." Arcee replied weakly as the memories began to fade in and out with the oncoming oblivion. She felt Ratchet's weight lift off the berth.

_10..._

_9..._

_8..._

"_Scrap!"_

_5..._

_4..._

"_Jack! Run!"_

Despite her failing awareness, Arcee forced her optics online and attempted to sit up.

"Woah, easy Arcee!" Ratchet exclaimed, rushing back to her side and taking hold of her trembling arms. "What is it? What's wrong?"

The red and white cloth.

The bowl of red liquid...

It had looked like...blood. Human blood.

"Jack!" The name came forth as a strangled shout, absolute terror fuelling her newfound energy if only for a moment. "Where...where's Jack?"

Ratchet tightened his grip on her as he once again sat on the berth beside her. Arcee felt her cooling fans cycling furiously as the darkness began to close in around her, and she saw Ratchet's expression sink as he looked into her rapidly dimming optics.

"We found Jack pinned underneath you at ground zero. Arcee, Jack suffered extensive injuries as a result of the blast, and I'm afraid that succumbed to them before we reached you both. I'm sorry Arcee, there was nothing I could do."

A gaping void seemed to open up within her spark as Arcee stared blearily at the medic holding her upright. Her head tipped forward as horrific realisation began to sink in, and the last thing she saw before the drugs won over was the small, red stain left on her abdomen. That wet, sticky warmth...had been Jack.

"No..."

And now he was dead.

"N-no...no..."

"I'm so sorry, Arcee," Ratchet said sadly as her body finally gave up and she slumped unconscious into his arms.

* * *

><p><em>I really do apologise for killing Jack off – I'm not normally a fan of human characters in any of the TF universes but I actually really like both him and Raf. Sadly, however, for this fic to work Jack had to snuff it. I promise that I'll make up for it in another fic...<em>

_Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed. All comments, good, bad, ugly or indifferent would be greatly appreciated :)_


	2. Reflection

_I make a few brief references to timelines in this chapter, and I just thought I should clarify a couple of assumptions before we begin. In the episode 'Darkness Rising', Ratchet mentions that they haven't seen Decepticon activity on Earth for three years. Later, in 'Rock Bottom', Arcee tells us that the energon mine they were exploring had been abandoned 4 or 5 years. In addition, Arcee mentions that she has been Jack's guardian for 'months' in 'Metal Attraction'. This fic is set somewhere between 'Metal Attraction' and 'Partners' at this stage, and as such, I am working on the assumption that the Autobots have been on Earth for somewhere between 5-10 years, with the children coming into the picture somewhere around 6 months ago. Having said that, I will be borrowing details from the upcoming episodes should they prove useful, which may mean that the timelines change slightly if needed (but I'll make it clear if that happens)._

_A big thank you to all of you who have read, favourite-ed and reviewed, your support and feedback is very much welcomed!_

_And of course, a massive hug to Taipan Kiryu for the inspiration, and for continuing to crack the whip over me._

**Chapter 2**

**Reflection**

Ratchet allowed a groan of fatigue escape his vocaliser as he wiped down his workbench and looked over the damaged remains of Arcee's leg that rested on its surface. He felt guilty for leaving it untouched for the night, but it had been an exhausting twenty-four hours and he had been left without the metal capacity or dexterity required to undertake the repairs needed.

It was days like this that he truly despised; where he was forced to work on a friend rather than some nameless, faceless victim, where death lingered in the shadows and emptiness followed in the silent aftermath.

It had been different back on Cybertron, where casualty after anonymous casualty was sent through the doors of his medical facility at a pace which allowed no time for reflection or doubt; no time for recognition or mourning. He lost some patients, saved most – physically, at least – but during the busiest of times there had never been the requirement to deal with the consequences. He treated them to the best of his abilities, of course, but the unenviable duties of tending and waiting fell to his subordinates. It wasn't that he didn't care, he just didn't have the time to spare during the peak of a relentless war.

All he wanted to do was curl up in his berth and recharge, to forget the horrific images of Jack's mangled body and Arcee's burns... Ratchet shook his head; perhaps old age and too much time spent on the slagged up rock called Earth had made him soft. It wasn't the worst he'd ever seen, not by a long shot, but still...

He folded the cloth neatly and threw it into the waste receptacle, ignoring the fading red stains on the other rags it fell upon. He had never really been a fan of the humans, their squishiness made them quite fragile and useless, not to mention their immaturity... but he had to admit, they had grown on him. And as much as they infuriated him at times, it wasn't fair that one of them had fallen as a result of a war that wasn't theirs to be a part of.

He had warned Optimus that allowing the humans to be a part of their world would result in unfavourable outcomes – although he had to admit that the humans' personal safety hadn't really been his priority at that point – and now fate had proven him right. Still, now wasn't the time for placing blame; what had happened had happened, and nothing could change it.

Mind you, if he could change things, then perhaps Miko...

Ratchet shook his head forcefully, silently reprimanding himself. No human death was acceptable, and he would never forget that fact.

A rush of air forced its way through his vents as he turned and looked at the prone form of Arcee lying on the berth before him. If anything could be considered truly unfair in an endless war, it was her tragic luck. Three partners; two of them dead at the hands of the Decepticons and now the third...it just wasn't right.

Well-trained optics scanned the array of monitors hooked up to Arcee's form as he pulled up a chair and sat down heavily next to his friend. He was tired and worn, but he wasn't going to let her wake alone. Not after what she had gone through. She looked so peaceful as she rested in sedative induced recharge, no trace of that permanent frown she always seemed to carry, the scar of yet another bot who had seen far too much of war.

Ratchet's thoughts drifted back to the events of the past few months – for all the years they had been trapped on that Primus forsaken rock, all had been relatively calm until that accursed day that had seen Cliffjumper taken from them; the day that had seen everything change.

The loss of Cliffjumper had been a blow to all of them, and especially Arcee. He hadn't imagined before that day that it would even be possible for the femme to become surlier than she already was, or quieter. But then again, at that point he hadn't been aware of her past, and the loss of her first partner, Tailgate.

And then to be thrust into acting as guardian for a human child at a time when she was quite obviously falling deeper into depression...it probably hadn't been the best decision on Prime's behalf. But then again, he himself was equally to blame for that. He had rejected the 'opportunity' out of self preservation at the time, but on reflection, it hadn't been fair to have placed the responsibility on Arcee's shoulders.

Who knew how she would take this third loss.

Perhaps it would have been better for her if they hadn't reached her in time.

Ratchet's internal reverie was interrupted by the sound of slow, heavy footfalls echoing in the hall outside the med bay. They paused for what seemed an eternity, and the medic mentally braced himself for the difficult conversation he knew was coming. He knew who those footfalls belonged to.

The double doors hissed open slowly to reveal Optimus Prime's tall frame. As always he carried an air of calm about him, but as he entered the med bay it did not escape Ratchet's attention that his proud shoulders were ever-so-slightly slumped; a sure sign of the burden of responsibility he was no doubt feeling.

"Optimus," Ratchet greeted solemnly, standing in respect as he did so.

"Greetings, Ratchet," he responded tiredly. "I am not interrupting your work, am I?"

"No, I have done all I can for the time being."

The Autobot leader remained silent as his optics drifted from his medic and fell upon the broken form of his Second, a near invisible grimace of pain flitting briefly over his face plates before dissolving into the steely look of resolve he always carried.

"What is Arcee's condition?" he asked without preamble. His gaze did not move.

"Her injuries are serious, but no longer life threatening," Ratchet stated as he moved to stand by his leader. "Physically, I expect her to make a full recovery. Mentally, on the other hand..." He sighed and let the statement die, unwilling to contemplate the path that lay ahead for the time being.

Optimus shook his head sadly. "There are so many unknowns at this point in time, and not just associated with Arcee's well being. But if anything is certain during these dark hours, it is that she will have our full support to aid her in her recovery." Looking up, he turned to the medic. "Ratchet, I know it is a lot to ask, but I would appreciate it if you would be here when I inform Arcee of Jack's passing. She is going to need—"

"Optimus," Ratchet interrupted hesitantly, "I'm afraid Arcee already knows. She came online briefly a few hours ago. She was asking for Jack – I had to tell her. I'm sorry, Optimus, I know you would have preferred to tell her yourself, but—"

"There is no need to apologise, old friend," Optimus said, briefly placing a strong hand on Ratchet's shoulder. "It was an unenviable task but you did the right thing; I appreciate your honesty and judgement. How did she take the news?"

"She was in obvious distress when I told her; however, I don't know how much she actually understood. She was in a great deal of pain and I had just administered a sedative when she asked about him...unconsciousness took her swiftly after I had broken the news to her."

Optimus nodded wearily, his shoulders slumping further as he returned his attention to Arcee.

Ratchet remained silent as he watched his leader walk over to Arcee's berthside and place his hand over hers in unspoken support. He had known the Prime longer than any of his other Earth-bound comrades and could see the toll the war had had on him over the millennia; this most recent tragedy was just another in a long string of setbacks he feared would eventually lead to destruction.

The war had become like a virus without a cure, sapping at the will of even the strongest of mechs until they were no longer recognisable. Ratchet knew none of them were immune to it – he himself had changed as a result of it – but the two beings before him, Optimus and Arcee, seemed to be the most prone to it. Perhaps it was their unyielding sense of independence and pride, the same characteristics that encouraged them to bottle things up inside and let them brood until they were consumed by them. Or perhaps they simply weren't as strong as their positions and responsibilities required them to be. But whatever it was, he would not let it win. It was his duty, as both a medic and a friend, to hold back the tide for as long as possible.

"Why don't you sit, Optimus," he said as he gestured to the recently vacated chair beside the berth and drew up another of his own. "You look as if you could take a break."

"As do you, old friend," he replied as he sat heavily in the offered chair.

"Yes, well..." Ratchet conceded as he too sat down. "How was your meeting with Agent Fowler?"

The gust of a sigh escaped the Autobot leader's vents as he frowned and unconsciously rubbed his brow.

"Not good," he responded, the strain evident in his deep voice. "Agent Fowler has informed his superiors of this recent turn of events – they are understandably angry about what has transpired. I have been instructed to terminate all contact with Ms Darby and the children until further notice; they will deliberate and inform me of any decisions made within forty-eight hours."

"Decisions? On what, may I ask?"

"Changes to procedures, permitted human/Cybertronian interactions...penalties..."

"_Excuse me?_" Ratchet scoffed in disbelief. "You mean to suggest that they would hold this against _us_? That they would _punish _us for what has transpired?"

Optimus shook his head again, his gaze shifting to his hands that rested in his lap. "I am afraid so. Our interactions with the humans have been limited for many reasons; we breached our original terms of agreement by allowing the children, and Ms Darby, to know of us."

It was Ratchet's turn to shake his head as anger began to bubble inside, mixing with the exhaustion and despair that already pumped through his fuel lines. "So what would they have had us do? It wasn't like Arcee and Bumblebee planned on exposing themselves to Jack and Rafael, and especially to Miko; are they suggesting that they should have allowed the Decepticons to kill the children rather than engaging in battle to protect them?"

"No," Optimus replied evenly. "But there are ways and means of making them forget, perhaps we should have employed such techniques after that first encounter. If I remember correctly, you yourself hinted at such things."

"At the time, I would have preferred that the children return to their normal lives and not be allowed further contact with us," the medic admitted, "but I would _never_ condone the use of memory altering techniques on another species without knowing what the implications would be. These things are untested on humans. No, I would have simply released them, and then relied upon the fact that they are children and no one would believe their stories about giant alien robots."

"Perhaps I should have taken your advice."

"And exposed the children to further Decepticon attacks without having someone there to protect them? Optimus, no one could have predicted this, just as you can't predict what would have happened if we had done things differently. What's done is done, and you are _not_ to blame for this."

"I am glad you think so, Ratchet."

"I _know_ so."

Silence once again filled the med bay as Ratchet contemplated the discussion he knew had to come next. Optimus' gaze shifted to the bank of monitors hooked to Arcee on the opposite side of the berth, as if searching for the next thing to go wrong. He hated himself for needing to ask the next series of questions.

"Optimus," he said softly, earning a quick glance in his direction. "Where is Ms Darby now? It's just that I need to arrange for Jack's body to be collected; I thought the humans would have been here by now but—"

"She is with Agent Fowler" he replied solemnly. "After explaining the fate of her son my presence was no longer welcome."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You know," Optimus interrupted, "I have delivered countless death messages in my lifetime, but this one...was the hardest of all. Jack was a human, and was the first innocent victim of our war on this planet. This war has gone on for too long, stretched too far...we are all to blame for Jack's death, not just the Decepticons. I was wrong to order the abandonment of our world. We should have perished along with her."

The medic felt his vents hitch as his Supreme Commander spoke; there was an emptiness in his voice that he had never heard before and it sent a chill of foreboding through his circuits. He wanted to reply, but suddenly he could find no words that seemed enough to heal the devastation his leader was feeling in that moment.

"You should get some rest," he spoke again, with a tone that made it seem more like an order rather than a suggestion. "I will stay here with Arcee."

As much as he wanted to protest, there was a finality in his leader's statement that left no place for argument. Ratchet stood, and placed a comforting hand on Optimus Prime's shoulder.

"Thank you, Optimus," he said. "I will be in my quarters; please inform me if Arcee's condition changes."

With that, the medic gave one last look over the monitors, turned, and left.

* * *

><p>Jack was dead.<p>

He was gone, just like Tailgate, just like Cliffjumper; and just like them, he wasn't coming back.

Or, perhaps, it had simply been a dream, some kind of recharge flux sent to torment her after a tiring day out on patrol. But really, what were the chances of that?

Arcee lay silent and unmoving on the repair berth, her optics offline in the perfect imitation of recharge. She knew it was probably unfair of her to keep her companion waiting – and no doubt worrying – but the idea of revealing her consciousness and subsequently having to face reality was...shattering.

Nevertheless, the memory of that red stain on her chassis danced across her thought patterns without any sympathy, an image of death and defeat intended to haunt her for the rest of her days. Despite her best efforts there was no denying it; Jack was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it.

It felt as if a black hole had opened up in time and space and had sucked her in, swallowing her whole and sending her to the pit in one slow and painful movement. Even though her optics were offline she knew it was dark, it always was after...after she was left _alone_.

Arcee knew where she was going, she had driven that road twice before and this time she didn't really care. What was the point of changing direction when fate insisted on steering her back to the emptiness, after all?

A dull ache throbbed through her body despite her HUD indicating that her pain receptors had been deactivated; the unfortunate aftermath of all protoform injuries as she had learnt many times before. But in truth it didn't bother her, not when it gave her a legitimate point of reality on which to target all her anguish, and all her guilt. Perhaps if she just let it fester long enough she would arrive at her destination a lot sooner, saving her all the slag that came hand in hand with failure.

The soft rush of a vented sigh made itself heard in the quiet of the med bay, drawing Arcee's attention back to the being sitting at her side. She had detected Optimus' presence soon after her systems had dragged themselves online, although it had taken her a while to make sense of the situation.

Realisation had hit her like an overloading spacebridge.

But despite it all, he was waiting for her. He would be disappointed, of course, blame her for what had happened; but still, he was there. It was comforting, in a shallow, empty kind of way – the kind of comfort that came with the confirmation that all hope for the future was lost – but she appreciated it nonetheless.

Arcee onlined her optics, resigning herself to the inevitable.

The image of Optimus Prime swam into view as her optics adjusted to the dim light of the med bay; he seemed to be staring at some undefined point beyond her berth and it took a moment for the mech to notice that she was watching him. A faint smile crossed his face briefly.

"Arcee," he said softly with a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"Optimus."

"It is good to see you functional again."

Arcee glanced down at her damaged body, noting the absence of half her left leg for the first time. "I'm not sure 'functional' is the right word," she said, humourlessly.

Optimus sighed, and placed his hand over her wrist. "You may be damaged, but you are strong Arcee. Your wounds will heal in time, and you will be wiser for the experience." His hand retreated.

"Wiser?" Arcee said with a scoff. "Not to be rude, Optimus, but losing a partner and getting myself slagged up like this isn't a new experience. I doubt there's anything more I could learn on the matter."

"I'm not suggesting that it will be easy, Arcee. But the humans have a saying: 'what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger'. I believe it rings very true in this situation."

"A pity Jack didn't get the opportunity to grow stronger," she said bitterly. There were times when Optimus' positive wisdom really grated, and this was one of them. Why couldn't he just get on with berating her, or better still, reattaching her leg so that she could get the pit out of there.

"Indeed. Jack's passing is nothing less than a tragedy, but we owe it to his memory, and to ourselves, to remain strong. Otherwise, his death will have been in vain."

Arcee closed her eyes, biting back on the snarky response that threatened to attack her Supreme Commander. He had said something similar after Cliffjumper's termination, and it had raised her anger back then too. Empty words would do nothing to bring any of her partners back.

"Arcee," Optimus said; she looked up at him again. "I'm sorry but I have to conduct a formal investigation into yesterday's events, which means I will need a formal statement from you. I am not expecting it now, but when you are feeling up to it. The humans are conducting their own investigations, too; I'm afraid that they will need to ask you a few questions as well."

"The humans?" Arcee spat, struggling into a sitting position; Optimus lunged forward to steady her. "What the frag do they have to do with it?"

The Prime retreated as Arcee shrugged off his attempt to help. "They lost one of their own, Arcee," he said tiredly, "and it happened while he was under our care. It is understandable that they would question any investigation undertaken by me alone; they have already made it clear that I could be biased in my judgement."

"Biased? How? By declaring Airachnid responsible for this? _Seriously—_"

"It is not so much a question of the Decepticons' hand in this, but ours. They want to know why Jack was placed in such a dangerous position to begin with."

Arcee expelled a gust of air through her vents in frustration. "I protected Jack for months, and beyond those first few days they did nothing to stop me. When Airachnid arrived on Earth I made it clear that we were no longer safe, but nothing was done about it. Not by you, and especially not by them. And now _my_ judgement is being questioned?"

"Arcee, no one is questioning your judgement—"

"No? Well it sure as slag sounds like it," she snapped. But whether her anger was aimed at Optimus, the humans or herself, Arcee wasn't sure. A wave of pain rolled through her form, and she curled in on herself.

"Arcee?" A gentle hand made itself felt on her shoulder, and she glanced up briefly at her leader. "Do you need me to get Ratchet for you?"

The femme shook her head sadly, returning her gaze to her damaged leg. "No, I'm fine," she said with a defeated tone. "I'm sorry, Optimus, I didn't mean—"

"There is no need to apologise, Arcee," Optimus cut her off. "You have suffered a great loss and I understand that you need time to grieve. But I need you to understand that, as hard as it is, you will be asked difficult questions and the humans will demand answers. I will do all I can to support you – as will your comrades – but I will not pretend this will be easy for you."

Arcee nodded silently in response, feeling the emptiness growing within her. Her optics wandered to the place on her chassis where the red stain had resided only a few hours ago, finding only the dull grey of unpolished steel. If only the ache of loss could simply be wiped away.

Long moments of stillness passed between the two Autobots, both lost within their own painful thoughts and recriminations. Despite the fact that her gaze did not move, she could sense the occasional glance from her leader, searching her for some kind of unspoken admission. He blamed her for what had happened, of course he blamed her, and she couldn't fault him for that. Still, it didn't take away the sting of judgement.

Her thoughts drifted to Jack, and the last two words she had spoken to him. An order to run. Would things have been different had she chosen not to shield him, but instead had driven him to safety? Maybe, maybe not. But things _would_ have been different if she had ignored his plea to join her; that was certain.

And another certainty; he wouldn't have been dead if she had gone with her instincts months ago and gone after Airachnid. _She_ was the one that should have been terminated, not Jack.

Arcee clenched her fists in anger, feeling her strength renewed. No, Jack's death would not be in vain. His sacrifice would be the fuel to her fire, the fuel that would burn until the universe was rid of an evil no less than that of Megatron himself.

She would have her revenge.

_To be continued._

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><p><em>I hope you enjoyed! All comments are appreciated :)<em>


	3. Finality

_I must admit, I was very surprised that I managed to complete this chapter so quickly – after what has been a rollercoaster of a week I wasn't expecting to find the time or inspiration to sit down and write. But, here it is, and I hope you will all find something to like about it._

_Once again a big thanks to those of you who took the time to read, favourite and review. And an especially big thanks to Taipan Kiryu for the continued support and inspiration._

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

**Finality**

_Arcee watched in silence as the humans rolled the small gurney out of the storage room and into the med bay, the dull light casting eerie shadows over the white cloth draped over the lifeless body of Jack. In truth she would have liked to look away, pretend it wasn't happening, but for some reason she couldn't draw her optics away from the sorry display._

_The crisp edge of the cloth rippled slightly with the movement as they continued past her berth, and as the humans walked swiftly towards the exit she realised that would be the last moment in which she and her partner would be together. _

"_Wait, please..." she managed to speak through her tightening vocaliser. "I...I would like to see Jack before you take him, to...to say goodbye..."_

"_Arcee," Ratchet said as he approached her side, abandoning his duty of guiding the humans away. "I don't think that is such a good idea. He was badly damaged and...I think it would be better if you remember him the way he was." _

"_Please, Ratchet...I need to see him..."_

_The corners of Ratchet's mouth dropped further in sadness, but he nodded his head in approval at the humans waiting expectantly for an answer. The procession, which had halted under the doorway, proceeded back into the room, stoping before the two Autobots. _

_White-gloved hands rolled back the sheet._

"NO!"

Arcee woke from recharge with a start, her cry of anguish escaping into reality before she knew what was happening. Her eyes opened automatically, and she found herself sitting in the same position she had been in all morning, her left leg slightly raised as Ratchet worked to reattach the limb.

"Easy there, Arcee," the medic addressed her as he put down his tools and took hold of her wrist comfortingly. "You're safe."

Arcee's hand trembled slightly as she rubbed at her optics in an attempt to hide both her fear and embarrassment. "Sorry Ratchet," she said softly, "I must have dropped into recharge."

"That's to be expected. Bad memory flux?"

She nodded slightly, not moving her gaze from her lap. It had become a recurring nightmare, a bizarre and twisted replay of that dark hour in which reality had solidified and could no longer be denied, each time slightly altered but always leaving her with the same emptiness when it was over.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Ratchet had been right; she shouldn't have seen him that way. But it was too late now, and the image was burnt into her memory just like the red stain on her chassis, invisible but always there. Even in consciousness her mind replayed the revealing moment, tormenting her relentlessly no matter the hour or circumstances; but recharge was the worst, when the rules of the game changed and the ending was unpredictable and different each and every time.

She had never vocalised the scream, but it had been on her lips. Subconsciousness had stripped her of that small demonstration of strength and control. Arcee wished she could just override her recharge protocols and avoid those horrible fluxes – dreams, the humans called them – but with her self-repair systems suckling hungrily upon her energy reserves there was little chance of finding escape. She sighed, and looked up wearily at Ratchet.

"I'm almost done here," he said, acknowledging her attention and gesturing towards her re-attached leg. "Unfortunately, you've woken up in time for the most unpleasant part."

The medic held up a drill, and Arcee grimaced in displeasure. With her pain receptors disabled and a mild sedative swirling through her systems there would be no pain, but still, the process of having a brace attached to her leg would be unpleasant. Not that having a knee rebuilt and a leg reattached was an enjoyable experience, but there was something about feeling her undamaged metal plating being drilled into that really put her denta on edge. And Ratchet, for one, had learned that fact from past experience.

"Great," Arcee said sardonically. "Because I'm already enjoying myself so much. Thanks, Ratchet."

"Believe it or not, Arcee, I don't get any enjoyment from this. I'll be as quick as I can. Ready?"

The femme braced herself against the berth and stared down into her lap. "Knock yourself out," she said through gritted denta.

True to his word Ratchet worked quickly, casting a discreet glance in her direction every now and then. Within two breems he was done, but it wasn't until he had wiped away the fine metal shavings near the final drill site that he broke the tense silence.

"I'm finished, but don't even think about getting up," he said with gruff humour as he turned away and began packing away his tools. "You are going to stay put for at least one more day, just to make sure that the welds set."

Arcee halted in her hasty escape attempt, throwing a nasty glare at the medic's back. "You're joking, right?"

"I certainly am not," Ratchet stated, turning to face his patient. "I don't want you undoing my repair work on you."

Black fingers gripped the edge of the berth in frustration, legs dangling mechano-centimetres from the floor and subsequent freedom. Anger spread across Arcee's facial features, her optics brightening slightly. "Don't do this to me, Ratchet," she hissed threateningly. "I've been in here long enough, I need out."

"I'm sorry, Arcee, but you need to stay off that leg" Ratchet said, shaking his head. "I will check the welds tomorrow, and if they are healing like they should, then you'll be free to go."

Arcee felt her cooling fans kick on as panic began to mix with her anger. It wasn't that she was claustrophobic, but the thought of remaining trapped in that room – the same room through which Jack's lifeless body had been guided in a sad parade of finality – made her feel sick. More than ever she needed to feel the cool breeze of the night caressing her frame as she travelled at high speed in her alt mode; more than ever she needed the solitude of the Nevada desert where her thoughts could brood without the interruption of a well-meaning friend.

"I outrank you, Ratchet," she said with a hushed voice, sliding off the berth and gingerly placing weight on her legs.

"Yes, you do," Ratchet said with a hint of defiance in his tone. "But not when it comes to matters of a medical nature. _I_ outrank Optimus Prime himself when the health of one of my patients is involved. Now, back on the berth."

Arcee's jaw clenched as her hands balled at her sides, defeat drowning the anger inside. "Scrap."

Ratchet sighed as he watched Arcee sit back on the berth as commanded, her hunched frame suddenly seeming so small. He approached her carefully, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I won't keep you in here any longer than necessary, Arcee, I promise."

She remained silent as her gaze fell to the floor, her arms wrapped tightly about herself. What was the point in arguing when fate and authority insisted on pushing her down, deeper into the depths of helplessness.

"Look Arcee," he continued after a moment of hesitation, "I'm not going to pretend that I know what you're going through right now, I wouldn't have a clue. But I do know what it is like to lose someone close, and I do know how to listen, if you ever feel like talking about it. Just remember that."

The femme nodded slightly, but didn't look up. She had heard it all before, from Cliffjumper and the medics that had treated her after she had witnessed Tailgate's murder, from her friends following Cliffjumper's termination... If there was one thing she had learnt from the tragedies that insisted on haunting her, it was that talking did _nothing_ to ease her pain. Revenge was her only hope of salvation, and the longer she was kept locked up in the med bay like a prisoner wrongly accused, the more desperate her desire to kill grew. Airachnid would die, and then every other Decepticon would follow, avenging all three of her lost partners in a pearlescent flow of purple lifeblood.

Sighing, Ratchet squeezed his friend's shoulder before retreating to his workbench; Arcee resisted the urge to cringe. She knew he meant well, she knew they all meant well, but all she really wanted was to see them angry. Didn't they want their revenge too?

"_The desire for revenge only clouds one's judgement; striving blindly for termination will only avert the course of justice and do more harm than good. If we cannot give our enemies the opportunity to repent, then we lose all hope of ending this war peacefully."_

Her leader's words from the night before stormed her processor forcefully, and she immediately felt her anger rise again.

"_Avert the course of justice?"_ she had spat viciously, no longer caring about protocol and the proper ways of addressing a superior officer. _"Why don't you tell that to Jack? Tell it to Cliffjumper, and Tailgate, and all the other Autobots that have been slaughtered at the hands of the Decepticons. And while you're at it, why don't you tell June. Why don't you go and tell June that her son won't get the same _justice_ that he would have had if his murderer had been _human_."_

Her words had hit home heavily, she had seen it in the dimming of Optimus Prime's optics. She knew it had been cruel, but in truth, she didn't feel guilty. Not then, and not now. He had left quickly after that, and hadn't returned. But that was fine, she didn't need the Prime's help if he wasn't willing to give it.

Arcee's thoughts drifted to June, the one being that was certain to feel the same way she did. Guilt of a different kind rose up from the depths of her spark, fuelling the ache that continued to grow within. She knew she had already broken a promise to the woman – that she would keep Jack safe – but there was another promise she could make, and there was _nothing_ that would stop her from keeping it.

"Ratchet," she said, hands clenching again as she looked up at the medic with a dark gaze. The addressed mech turned to face her. "I need to see June."

Ratchet nearly scoffed. "Arcee, what did I just tell you? I want you to stay—"

"I want you to bring her here."

Ratchet shook his head sadly as he approached her berthside again. "Arcee, you know I can't do that. We have all been given orders to refrain from contact with the humans until further notice, and that includes Ms Darby. Optimus is with Agent Fowler's superiors now, negotiating the next course of action for all of us, but until he returns – and I suspect he will be gone for a long while yet – the best we can do is follow our orders."

"But, Ratchet..." Arcee countered, turning to glare at the wall, "her son is dead..."

_...because I didn't kill Airachnid when I had the chance._ The femme didn't give voice to the self-reprimanding conclusion to that statement, but judging by the slight slumping of Ratchet's shoulders he understood her point regardless.

"I know, Arcee, I know. But my hands are tied right now, as are yours. And to be honest, I'm not sure it's such a good idea for you to approach her right now anyway. From what Optimus told me, she did not take the news of Jack's death well. That is understandable, of course, but she is very angry right now, and seeing you will likely make matters worse for the both of you. In my opinion, it's best to wait until she approaches you; I'm sure Fowler would allow that much if she requested it."

"And what if he doesn't allow it?"

"We will cross that bridge when we come to it."

Arcee forced a gust of air through her vents in the imitation of a sigh, her gaze shifting from the wall to her lap as she once again embraced herself. That familiar feeling of defeat returned, bringing with it an overwhelming sense of fatigue that seemed to scream 'give up' with each venting of her strained systems. The femme lay back down and curled up awkwardly on her side, turning her back on her companion.

"Yeah, we'll cross it, if you ever let me get off this fragging berth," she muttered bitterly. "Scrap."

* * *

><p>The overwhelmingly white walls of the city morgue greeted June Darby coolly as she was led by the elbow to the still, cloth-draped form she knew was her son. It wasn't the first time she had been in that room, being an emergency room nurse she had been required to accompany grieving family members to their loved ones' lifeless side on more than one occasion, but until that moment she had never noticed how silent it was in there. Her slow, shuffled footsteps seemed to echo endlessly in the tiled room, the heavier footfalls of Agent Fowler cracked like gunshots in the empty night, invasive and unsettling in the otherwise peaceful surrounds.<p>

Her body shivered involuntarily as they stopped before Jack, a neatly dressed agent approaching them from the other side of the slab.

"Ms Darby," he said in greeting; she vaguely remembered meeting him once before but the past few days had become such a mess of confusion that she couldn't recall his name. "Are you ready?"

She took a shuddering breath and nodded silently, the sound of her heart pounding frantically in her chest drowning out whatever it was he said in reply.

White-gloved hands rolled back the sheet, and suddenly reality was no longer able to be denied. The misshapen face of her only child lay exposed in the crisp light, the extent of his injures highlighted by the dark, heavy bruising marring his otherwise pale, blue skin.

It felt as if something heavy and hard had hit her at full force, stealing the breath away from her in a rush of agony. Time stopped, and the world around her faded until there was nothing left but her and that barely recognisable boy lying before her.

"No...Jack...no..." she muttered as she traversed the small yet eternal distance between her and her son with slow, unsteady steps.

Warm, trembling hands caressed Jack's cold forehead, brushing away the dark locks of hair that had fallen over his brow as tears began to slide silently down her cheeks, utterances of pleading disbelief and sorrow spilling uncontrollably from her dry, cracked lips.

Her son was dead. After waiting for so long to see him, the news she had been delivered two and a half days ago could no longer be ignored, could no longer be dismissed as just a nightmare from which she would awake to a reality in which her son was there, waiting for her.

Her right hand slid down to the white sheet hiding the rest of his body and began to pull it back, seeking out his hand to hold.

But another hand, a hand that did not belong in that devastating and private moment, appeared at her side and returned the sheet to where it had been, guiding hers away.

"I'm sorry, Ms Darby," a voice spoke from somewhere in the painful distance. "But it is best that you don't see the full extent of his injuries. You need to remember him as he was, not as he is now. I'm sorry..."

June felt her knees buckle as she sunk down to lean upon the cold, steel plate on which her son's body rested, her hands never leaving his face as she wept into his chest.

A cold, devastated cry of anguish made itself heard in the empty void that the universe had become, the desolate cry of a mother that had lost her only son.

_To be continued._


	4. Breaking Up

_Author's notes: As was the case with the last chapter, I'm really surprised that I managed to get this done so quickly – things have been insanely busy of late. So, no promises that the next update will be quick. I started the first scene weeks ago and found that writing from Miko's point of view is a real challenge, but, surprisingly, it was also very enjoyable. As much as I still have my doubts about her as a character, I do look forward to putting her into a 'happier' scene sometime soon; I think my first impressions of her were possibly a bit harsh (Rock Bottom opened my eyes somewhat) so it's only fair that I give her a decent go._

_As per usual, I really hope you will enjoy, and will take the time to let me know what you think :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

**Breaking Up**

It wasn't until Miko had made it around the corner and down the alleyway behind her school that she allowed the tears she had been fighting all day to slide down her cheeks. Not that she was ashamed of crying, but being forced to hide her emotions was proving to be an impossible task for someone who was used to being as open as a comic book on the Tokyo subway.

It was driving her crazy, having to remain silent on something so devastatingly painful that it threatened to tear her apart; and yet, thanks to another secret she was bound to keep she didn't have a choice in the matter.

Jack had been killed by a giant alien robot that was supposed to be his guardian, and she couldn't tell anyone about it.

As she moved further into the dark shadows, she spotted the hunched form of her young friend sitting against the red brick wall, clutching the remote controlled car that looked striking like his own Autobot guardian like his life depended on it. He smiled meekly up at her as she approached, and rubbed at his eyes under his glasses.

"Hey, Miko," he said he said softly, his voice wobbling slightly.

"Hey Raf," she replied, throwing her backpack aside and sitting down beside the younger boy, wrapping an arm briefly around his shoulder as she wiped the tears from her face. "I take it you're not ready to go to June's place just yet?"

Raf shook his head, looking down at the toy in his lap. "Maybe later. It's not that I don't want to go, but it's hard seeing June so upset like that. I just...need a break."

"I know how ya feel. It's okay, we've spent a lot of time with her, I'm sure she'll be fine with just Agent Fowler tonight."

The pair sat in silence for several minutes, the occasional sniffle revealing the ache neither of them could hide any longer.

"I can still hear Arcee's scream," Raf said finally, turning to his companion with a tear dampened face. "Whenever I close my eyes, whenever it's quiet... I've never heard anybody scream like that before. And I keep thinking, she must have been so scared, and in so much pain, to have screamed like that..."

"Yeah, it was pretty freaky," Miko admitted, remembering that horrible moment she'd been trying so hard to forget. A shiver ran down her spine as she tightened her embrace around her knees, her dark eyes fixed on the brick wall before them, unwilling to witness her friend's immense sadness.

But Arcee's scream wasn't the worst of her memories. Unlike Raf, she hadn't been spared of the devastating sight of Jack's broken body, lying trapped and lifeless underneath the one being that was supposed to keep him safe. The scent of burned flesh and stale blood invaded her nostrils once again as dust and smoke filled the air; memories so vivid she was certain they would never fade.

Why couldn't she have just listened to Bulkhead and stayed back, instead of letting her curiosity, excitement and, if she was honest, fear, take control again.

"I hope Arcee is okay," Raf continued, stirring the girl out of her thoughts. "Bumblebee told me that she was really hurt and that Ratchet was still repairing her when he took me home that night...what if she died too, Miko?"

She had to admit, the thought had never crossed her mind; but whilst it shook her, it surprised her to find that the idea didn't hurt as much as it should have.

But there was no way she was going to share that with the boy that continued to cry at her side.

"I'm sure she's fine, Raf," Miko said in attempt to comfort him. "Arcee is tough, and I bet she's been blown up like that lots of times."

Raf gasped at her words and stared at her with a look of both fear and disbelief – so much for making him feel better.

"Aaand," she continued in an attempt to undo the damage, "I'm sure Agent Fowler would have told us if she was, you know...dead. He likes keeping secrets but I don't think he'd keep something like that from us."

"I'm not so sure," the boy replied, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Nobody wants to answer our questions and they keep treating us like we're no longer allowed to even _know_ about the Autobots... How can we be sure they'd tell us?"

"We can't...but even if Agent Fowler won't tell us, Bee would get a message to you, wouldn't he?"

Raf sniffed loudly, fresh tears welling in his eyes again. "I don't think so, Miko. He's not allowed to talk to us either, remember? He wouldn't go against an order given by Optimus, no matter how much he hated it. It's not fair, it's like we're all being punished for what happened to Jack. I really miss him, but I really miss the Autobots too. Why can't we see them?"

The girl straightened up and wrapped her arm around her friend's shoulder again, suppressing the need to clench her fists or run away. Miko knew this conversation would come sooner or later, but in truth she had hoped it would be later. She knew speaking openly about her opinion on the matter would only hurt the young boy further.

"They're doing it for our own safety," she finally relented, internally cringing as she did so. She could almost hear Jack's reaction to that statement, had he been there to share the moment with them.

"_Safety? The world's greatest rule breaker and you're worried about safety?"_

"It's not the Autobots' fault that this happened, Miko," Raf replied, a look of shock on his face. "They would never do anything to hurt us on purpose."

"It's not the 'on purpose' part that I'm worried about," Miko said as she felt Raf pull away from her. The look of shock had morphed into something more incredulous. "Arcee squished Jack. She squished him just like a bug and don't say she didn't because I _saw_ her lying on top of him!"

And there it was, the truth exposed for the first time since that horrible moment. She had done her best to not run and hide the moment realisation had hit her; she had repressed the shivers of absolute fear as she'd sat in Bulkhead's passenger seat as he took her away from that terrible scene, and then took her home...

But no matter how much she tried to rationalise her thoughts, her mind always returned to that one image that proved to her just how dangerous her Autobot friends were. Forget about dangerous missions; one misplaced foot at the base and, as Ratchet had once so tactfully put it, squish.

Raf, however, seemed totally insulted by the suggestion. His overly magnified eyes glistened with something other than just tears as he stared at her through his glasses, his mouth slightly agape as he struggled to find the right words to reply.

"How...how could you say something like that?" he finally responded, scuffling along the wall in an attempt to put distance between them. "Arcee was Jack's partner and she...she _never..._"

"Raf, I'm not saying—"

"You know," Rafael interrupted her, climbing to his feet and hugging his remote controlled car tightly, "I think I need I want to be alone for a while. See you later, Miko."

Miko remained silent as she watched one of her last remaining friends disappear around the corner, the sound of his backpack dragging along the ground still evident long after he was gone.

* * *

><p>Arcee limped slowly into the Command Centre, a look of agony spread across her features as she concentrated on suppressing the groans of pain that threatened to escape her vocaliser. With her pain receptors well and truly functioning again she felt worse than she had for days, but there was no way in hell that she was going to make a fuss about it – the thought of being stuck in the med bay again far worse than dealing with a few war wounds.<p>

Bumblebee looked up at the sound of her approach, and greeted her with a look filled with relief and concern in equal measure; within moments he was at her side, attempting to steer her in the direction of a chair.

"I'm fine, Bumblebee," she said in response to his rapid-fire questions, shrugging off his hold in the process. "And actually, I really need some fresh air so if you don't mind..."

There was no hiding the rejection in Bumblebee's reply as he backed off immediately, looking down at the floor as he did so.

"Look, Bee," Arcee said with barely restrained frustration, "don't take it personally, but I've been stuck inside for days now and I just need out, okay? When Bulkhead gets back from his patrol and you're off duty, you can come and join me. Alright?"

The yellow muscle car nodded silently in agreement, turning dejectedly back to the controls of the ground bridge.

"Why don't you let me take over ground bridge duty," Ratchet interrupted the conversation from behind. "I need someone to make sure Arcee doesn't do something foolish while she's still healing."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ratchet," the femme spat, not appreciative of the medic's inference or dour humour.

"And while you're watching her," Ratchet continued in his gruff tone, "make sure she remembers to return in time for her appointment with the humans. I will have a ground bridge ready for you at 1900 hours, Arcee, don't keep them waiting."

The blue femme let out a growl of irritation, rolling her eyes as she did so. "Thanks for the reminder, Ratchet, nice to know you trust me with the important things. Well come on, Bee, the sooner I'm outside the sooner I can hurt myself under your supervision."

Arcee didn't miss the look of apology Bumblebee threw at Ratchet on her behalf, but chose to ignore it as she continued on her slow, awkward journey to freedom. She could feel the young scout following close behind her, hands practically at the ready should she stumble or require some form of assistance, and resisted the need to wheel on him and tell him to get lost.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his concern, but she was perfectly capable of looking after herself and had had enough of being helpless over the last few cycles. Yet, that wasn't the main source of her frustrations. Although she had invited Bumblebee to join her later on, all Arcee really wanted was to be left alone. Her mind still reeled with agonising memories that needed to be properly fed and groomed, but more than that, she needed space to _plan_.

The warmth of the late Jasper afternoon swept over her form the moment Arcee stepped out onto the desert sand, and it took a moment for her optics to adjust to the harsh light after spending so much time in the dim med bay. Without a word to her silent companion she headed for a rocky outcrop to the side of the base and hauled herself carefully onto the surface, sitting down with her braced leg resting uncomfortably out before her. Before long, Bumblebee was sitting by her side.

Dust danced playfully across the parched landscape as the horizon rippled in the heat, painting an image of blue and brown hues that until a few years ago would have been considered impossibly alien. The buzz of distant traffic mixed with the whisper of the breeze rustling through the sparse vegetation, creating a lonely backdrop perfect for introspection.

However, it seemed her present company wasn't intent on such brooding, his codified words breaking the near silence mournfully.

"Yeah, Bumblebee, I'm sure I'm okay," she replied with a sigh, gazing out at the scenery with a coldness settling on her spark. "It's not like I haven't been through this before – I can handle it."

Bumblebee gave her a look of sadness as he beeped in conversation, hesitation quite possibly brought on by fear of her response flooding his statement.

"I know you miss him, Bee, we all do. And I'm sure Raf misses you too." Despite the pain his words brought her, Arcee managed to pass a brief smile of comfort in his direction. It was her fault he had been separated from his charge, after all; it was her fault the humans no longer trusted them with their children.

She shook her head, clenching her fists surreptitiously. No, it wasn't her fault.

It was Airachnid's fault.

And the sooner she destroyed her, the sooner the brittle ties between the Autobots and the humans could be restored, allowing two guardians to be reunited with their partners.

At least theirs could be a happy ending.

Since that moment of realisation in the med bay a couple of days ago, images of Airachnid's death at her hands had punctuated her thoughts in counterpoint to the horrific memories left behind by that very same being. It would be painful, each scenario more horrific and gratifying than the last, but in truth Arcee knew the form of the final blow could not be predicted. In the end, revenge would find new limits to her cruelty, and there was no way she would hold them back.

She gritted her denta as pain flared menacingly, the sting of her healing burns calling attention to the wounds, unappreciative of their armour covering. Mental scars, it seemed, were not enough for that monster anymore.

But this time, she wasn't the only one that had been left with a mark.

Arcee shifted slightly on her rocky perch, stirring the dust and gaining a sideways glance from her companion. She wondered what June was doing in that moment, now alone in the world just as she was.

If only she could get away from the base for a while – away from her comrades and those blasted humans waiting to interrogate her – then she could at least check on the woman and perhaps, if she could get close enough, give her the comfort and reassurance she was no doubt waiting for.

The sound of Bumblebee's voice chirping out a reserved greeting shook Arcee from her thoughts; looking up she was surprised to see Bulkhead climbing up the outcrop to join them.

"Hey, Bee," he said warmly, sitting down on the dusty surface heavily. "Hey, Arcee. It's good to see you up and about."

"Up, maybe," she said acidly, gesturing to the brace on her leg. "Ratchet's put a limit on the 'about'."

"Ahh, you know he just does it because he enjoys torture," Bulkhead laughed, but the usual mirth in his tone was notably absent. "So, I overheard a conversation between Ratchet and Optimus when I bridged back to base – seems the boss bot's going to be stuck with Fowler's buddies for a while."

Clenching her left hand into a fist, Arcee picked up a small rock with her right and threw it out towards the distant highway. Fowler's 'buddies', the human government... She despised them almost as much as the Decepticons in that moment. Not because they had caused any harm – physically, at least – but because they were being so judgemental and closed minded. They had made up their minds on her guilt already – just like her comrades had – and it wouldn't matter what she said in her own defence, they would never listen.

"Yes, I'm sure I'll have plenty of opportunity to speak with him while I'm with the humans," Arcee stated coolly in response to Bumblebee's perfectly-timed reminder about her upcoming 'appointment' with said government officials. The second rock she had picked up was suddenly crushed to dust within her hand.

"What?" Bulkhead said, turning to face the femme. "They've summoned you?"

Arcee snorted with cynicism. "What do you think, Bulkhead – of course they have. If Ratchet hadn't declared me 'medically fit' last night I think they would have stormed the base by now. If they'd had their way, they would have questioned me the moment I came back online in the med bay."

"You're probably right," Bulkhead said with a laugh, rubbing the back of his helm as he did so. "I can just imagine what Ratchet's reaction to that would have been...flying wrenches would have only been the start."

"I'm glad you find the idea humorous," Arcee hissed, tossing yet another rock towards the horizon. "I don't know what the point of it all is; they're only going to hear what they fragging want anyway."

Bumblebee's optics were wide with concerned surprise as he beeped in response to the femme's acidic statement.

"It _is_ true, Bee," Arcee said, growing more and more agitated as the minutes swept by. Despite the vast desert surrounding her, Arcee could feel the tingle of claustrophobia playing with her sanity. "They all want me to admit to killing Jack, so that they can wipe their hands of any blame. They don't like admitting that they made a mistake in ignoring the threat that Airachnid poses."

With stiffness in her joints, Arcee pulled herself painfully into a standing position, her hands forming tight fists as she leant against the cliff face to steady herself. She could hear her comrades climbing to their feet beside her, and was tempted to point out that she included the two of them, and Optimus, in her sweeping reference to 'all'. She closed her eyes and vented in frustration, resting her forehelm beside her fists on the rough surface.

"Look, Arcee," Bulkhead finally said, breaking what had become a tense silence. "All you have to do is tell them what happened and they will know that you didn't mean to kill Jack. I know that you never—"

"Excuse me?" Arcee spat viciously, wheeling on the large mech with a movement that shot daggers of pain through her healing knee joint. Rage bubbled through her fuel lines like lava, searing her systems with an intensity that only served to fuel her near psychosis. "_I_ didn't kill Jack. Several tonnes of rubble killed Jack, after an explosion set off by Airachnid tore through the hangar we were in."

"Arcee, I didn't mean—" Bulkhead stammered, backing off with his palms raised in a pacifying gesture.

But the damage was already done, and within seconds the femme's sharp blade was mere millimetres from her friend's thick neck, trembling with unprecedented ire. Bumblebee's panicked chirping did nothing to calm her.

"No, of course you didn't mean it," Arcee hissed, her voice dripping with hatred. "Just like Optimus didn't mean it. I get it, Bulkhead – you blame me for this, you all do. Go on, say it."

When the mech remained in stunned silence Arcee scoffed, stowing her blade and turning away in disgust. "What, you're afraid of offending me now, are you? Well you know what, Bulkhead? Frag you. Frag all of you."

A dark metal fist collided with the rocky cliff face, sending a shower of dust and rubble over the blue femme. Despite the words of comfort and apology spewing forth from both mechs, the blade within Arcee's right forearm unsheathed again and with a cry of anguish she began to hack at the metal brace around her leg that prevented her from transforming. Bulkhead and Bumblebee both lunged forth to restrain her but she turned the sharp weapon upon them, her blinding rage holding them at bay even as they pleaded desperately with her.

It took only a few more swipes of the blade for the brace to fall clear and within moments, Arcee was speeding across the desert sand in her vehicle mode. She could hear her comrades calling after her but despite their worry neither of them followed; no doubt they'd already been in contact with Ratchet or Optimus and had received orders to wait.

Not that it mattered.

She was free and she had affairs to attend to. Nobody was going to stop her.

_To be continued._

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><p><em>As always, I send a dozen hugs to my dear friend Taipan Kiryu who not only lets me pester her constantly with my questions, but serves as a brilliant source of inspiration too.<br>_


	5. Mother

_It wasn't my intention to update this fic again until I had updated my other TFP fic 'Carrying', however, after breaking my brain over chapter 2 and getting nowhere with it I figured it would be better to change my focus to this. It's taken me a month to complete, but given the busy schedule life has thrown at me recently, I'm quite happy with the outcome. _

_This chapter provides a somewhat veiled insight into the human side of things, and represents a bit of a turning point in the story. I already have the next chapter planned out, so hopefully it won't take too long to update again. I hope you will enjoy.  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

**Mother**

Hugging a cushion tightly to her chest, June Darby sat silently within the warm embrace of her old couch as tears slid unconsciously down her cheeks, smearing what little remained of her black eyeliner. She had lost track of how long she had been sitting there, unfocussed and unmoving, but it didn't matter; nothing mattered any more.

Around her, life moved on like nothing had changed; the television continued to spew forth its endless supply of news and entertainment, the clock behind her continued to mark the time with a slow, even beat...

But she remained left behind, trapped in a dark bubble of devastated grief no light could ever hope to penetrate. How could she possibly move with the flow of time when her only son grew more distant with every second that passed?

How was it even possible that she could still exist when he was gone?

"Ms Darby...June..."

A voice interrupted the woman's empty existence and without registering the action she turned to acknowledge her companion. The young man looked kindly down at her, a smile that was supposed to be comforting touching his chapped lips.

Martin, the FBI's answer to a grief counsellor, knelt beside her and pulled the plate of meat and vegetables across the surface of the coffee table towards her. June resisted the need to cringe; he seemed more like a boy than a man, and the resemblance to her own lost child reinvigorated the sharp pain that had subsided into something more like a throbbing ache over the past few hours.

What could a boy like him possibly know about grief?

"Your dinner is getting cold. I know you don't feel like it, but why don't you have a couple of mouthfuls for me?"

"No thank you, Martin," June replied, returning her gaze to an unidentified point on the wall above the television. "I'm not hungry."

June felt Martin's gentle hand squeeze her shoulder as he sat on the couch beside her, the warmth of the touch almost stinging. "I know, but you haven't eaten anything today. You need to keep up your strength, I don't want you getting sick."

"What does it matter?" June asked with a whisper, ignoring the tears that dripped slowly onto the cushion, staining the fabric.

"It matters to me," Martin said, his hand drifting from her shoulder to move in soothing circles on her back. "And I'm certain it would matter to Jack...do you think he would want to see you starving yourself?"

June's eyes narrowed with something that could have been anger as she turned to look at Martin; why did he have to say that? Why did he have to say Jack's name and smother any tiny glimmer of hope that maybe there was still a chance that this was all some mistake, that it was someone else's son that had been killed and not hers?

Despite the light of the late afternoon sun pouring through the small gap in the curtains, the room suddenly became darker than ever. Jack was never coming back, who was she kidding?

"Please, June," Martin persisted, loading the fork with a small piece of meat and offering it for the woman to take. "You need to eat."

And there it was, the simple, insignificant gesture that proved that her entire world had slipped through her trembling fingers, that she had been stripped of all control and dignity. June's stomach began to churn as a horrible rush of raw emotion tightened within her, settling heavily. Hollow anguish morphed into despair-fuelled rage and suddenly the fork was sent flying across the room, Martin yelping in surprise.

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not hungry?" June cried through her tears. She stood up, sending the dampened cushion to the ground. "My son is dead and I'm being forced to keep it a secret – I can't even start making arrangements for his funeral and you're worried about how much I'm eating?"

Martin stood too, reaching out to the distraught mother in an attempt to comfort her. "June, I understand that circumstances are making this harder than it should be, but—"

"You _understand_?" June interrupted, her voice and body trembling alike. "Have you lost a child, Martin?"

"No, I—"

"Was your child killed at the hands of an alien species you now have to pretend to know nothing about?"

"June... No, I didn't mean..."

But the rage passed as quickly as it had arisen, draining out of June's body like the colour from her cheeks. Suddenly, it felt as if the Earth had stopped in its orbit, throwing its contents forward with a lurch that left her behind. The sound of Martin's voice melted into the blurry background as a white haze filled her vision and she swooned, losing all sense of the world beyond that dreadful pain that could never be erased.

Her son was dead; secrets or no, nothing would change that.

Empty inside, she sunk to the floor and wept into her hands.

* * *

><p>June wasn't aware of how much time had passed when she found herself sitting on the lounge room floor wrapped up in Martin's comforting embrace. Her face felt taught where her tears had dried some time ago, and when she pulled away from his arms she couldn't control the tremors wracking her body.<p>

"You feeling okay now?" Martin asked as he cocked his head to look into her eyes, his hands hovering reassuringly over her shoulders.

June nodded slightly, unable to meet the young man's gaze. "Y-yes...sorry, I..."

"No need to apologise, June. You've suffered an unimaginable loss, it's normal for you to be feeling sad, and angry – it's all part of the grieving process. But how are you feeling physically? You went really white there for a moment, you're not feeling dizzy at all?"

The woman remained silent for a while, unsure of how to answer such a question. In truth, she no longer recognised anything but pain and its unpredictable manifestations, but was it physical?

How could she possibly tell?

June looked down at her hands and watched them shake as she turned them over, palms raised. The lines had become more defined and the skin a little rougher, but still, she recognised those hands as the ones that had held that tiny, dark-haired boy for the first time so many years before.

Why did it have to be him?

Why did it have to be Jack, the mature, sensible young man who had grown to become her whole world? Why couldn't it have been Miko, or Raphael, or someone else entirely?

"June?"

She looked up and found Martin watching her carefully, his hand drifting to her arm as he waited for an answer. "Are you feeling dizzy?" He repeated.

"I...I don't know," June admitted, curling the fingers of her right hand into her hair and holding her forehead. "I just feel so..."

Tears began to well up in her eyes again as she released a shuddering sigh, her hand falling to her lap. It was impossible to describe the hurt she felt, the emptiness that had cocooned her since that fateful moment in which her entire world had been shattered...

"_Ms Darby...I am so sorry..."_

When she closed her eyes June could still see Optimus Prime kneeling before her, his hand reaching out to her as she backed away, unwilling to believe his words. As she tried to shake the memory a new sensation of anger bloomed...how could _he_ have let this happen?

How could he have let her son die?

The woman's hands clenched into fists as the tears pooling in her eyes finally broke free and spilled down her face. She had told Optimus so many times that her child had no place in their war; ordered him, as a mother, not to let Jack join their missions...

But her protests had fallen on deaf ears and now...

Now all she had was broken promises.

"June, why don't we get you back up on the couch?" Martin's gentle voice once again invaded June's thoughts, bringing her back to the lonely lounge room. "You'll be more comfortable there."

June didn't protest when Martin wrapped an arm around her back and helped her to feet, leading her back to the seat. She sat in silence while he collected the fork and cleaned up the mess she had made earlier, and remained that way when he sat down beside her wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

"Are you ready to talk to me now, June?"

The woman curled up dejectedly, resting her head on the arm of the couch. "Talking won't change anything," she responded quietly.

"No," Martin conceded, "but it will help. It can't be easy pretending to the outside world that nothing is wrong."

June maintained her earlier silence, tightening her grip on the blanket. What was the point in talking when she would only get the same response? The Government needed to protect itself from exposure first; laying her son to rest was a secondary matter. End of story.

"And I know you're angry about it," Martin pressed, sensing that no response was forthcoming. "You know that you can speak freely in front of me, don't you June? You don't have to worry about 'saying the wrong thing' or offending anyone..."

The statement was left hanging, and somewhere deep down June appreciated the young man's openness. She wasn't sure if she had imagined it, or if she had actually heard it during one of her more alert moments, but she vaguely remembered him telling her that he wasn't the same as the other Agents looking after her; perhaps he had been referring to his willingness to listen.

Still, it didn't change anything. Her life had suddenly become a fabrication; lies built upon a death they didn't really want to acknowledge lest their secrets be revealed – her pain didn't even factor into their thoughts. So what was the point of talking?

"Tell me what you're angry about, June."

June continued to stare at the coffee table, unwilling to face her companion. There had been a time when she had wanted to talk; before her son had been taken away from her and there still remained some hope that she could convince someone – anyone – that an alien war was no place for a child to explore. Yet they had ignored her, and even as they had escorted her from the morgue in which Jack now rested they had continued to do so, more concerned about instructing her to remain silent than answering the simple questions a mother deserved to ask.

And _now_ someone wanted to listen?

It was too late.

"Talk to me, June. Who made you angry?"

Who made her angry? How could Martin possibly expect her to answer that question? Names and faces began to form in her mind, human and Cybertronian alike, all equally guilty. June felt her stomach clench as she was once again reminded of the horrible betrayal she had suffered... Who made her angry?

How could she pick just one?

"Optimus Prime," she finally relented. One down, and so many more to go.

"And what is it about him that makes you angry?"

"He let my son die."

"Anything else?"

June's fists clenched again as her heart began to beat harder in her chest, filling her with renewed energy. Anything else? Of course there was more to it than that, of course there was something_ else_...

"He let my son die," she repeated as she sat up and began to rock back and forth in her seat, "and now I can't even tell my family that he's gone. I had to call work barely an hour after I found out and spin some bullshit lie about a family emergency in Florida, and now I'm trapped inside this house until you bastards decide how best to cover up the truth!"

She stood up, feeling the blood in her veins flowing in burning torrents that fuelled the thing that had suddenly broken inside.

"I was _promised_ that no harm would come to Jack, that he would always be safe... and now... I can't even bury him. I have had everything taken from me – my child, my control, my life..." June shuddered, hugging herself tightly. "And you wonder why I'm angry..."

Martin stood too and, placing his hands on her shoulders, turned June to face him. "That's a good start, June, a very good start. Why don't you tell me more?"

* * *

><p>Long shadows stretched out across the bedroom as June slept fitfully, exhaustion and devastation taking its toll on her body. Soft moonlight filtered in around the curtains, gracing the small window with an eerie halo only to have it banished into the night when something moved in the outside world, blocking the light.<p>

A soft tapping sound interrupted the quiet song of the night for a moment; a controlled, hesitant rhythm that did little justice to the barely restrained fury and anguish it represented. After a while it made itself heard again, slightly louder and carrying a note of urgency that hadn't been there the first time.

June stirred from her sleep when the tapping occurred a third time, and reluctantly opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by the remnants of her son's existence. She was in his room, wrapped up in sheets that still carried his scent, and for a moment was overwhelmed by the memories that flooded in as her vision cleared.

Panic began to rise when the tapping continued; the realisation that she wasn't alone nearly as crippling as the pain she continued to fight. Part of her had hoped the sound was some remnant of an already forgotten dream but as the truth sunk in another reality suddenly became clear to her.

She was completely and utterly on her own.

Not just now, but forever; there was no one there to hear a cry for help, no one there to protect her or to give her courage in the face of danger...

Whoever it was outside, she would have to face alone.

The dim light danced briefly as the being outside moved again – the tapping had ceased but whoever it was was still there. Perhaps they had decided that no one was home; perhaps it was just a matter of moments before they came crashing in through the window, hoping to claim what wasn't theirs to take.

The pounding in June's chest became painful and her breath came in raged gasps as she slowly pushed aside the sheets and climbed out of bed, the shuddering of her body making it difficult to walk. Maybe it was the subconscious desire to end it all that had driven her to move toward the inherent danger, but before she even realised it she was standing before the curtain, hand outstretched.

The thick, blue fabric moved aside to reveal a dark figure standing in the shadows outside Jack's room; a slender woman in black leathers and a motorcycle helmet that for some reason looked familiar. The click of curtain rings coming together broke the silence as June opened the curtain completely, the sound causing the woman beyond to turn around and face her.

And then, she disappeared, leaving only darkness behind.

"June?"

The mother gasped and staggered backwards as the shadows outside shifted, two brilliant blue eyes suddenly gazing down at her.

"A-arcee?"

Arcee nodded silently in response and moved closer to the house, the movement allowing the moonlight to glance off her armour in flashes of blue. June could feel those piercing eyes watching her as she edged back towards the window, her fingers trembling as she released the catch and slid the glass aside.

A new emotion had replaced the fear that had filled her only a few moments ago, something raw and painful that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Her eyes moved, from the fine trail of incandescent purple that streaked the Cybertronian's left leg to the hands that she had wrapped around her knees, to the feminine curves of her abdomen and chest to those eyes...those eyes that continued to stare...

June wondered if those eyes had seen her son when that same body had crushed him; she wondered if the purple that now streaked her frame mirrored the red that had certainly stained those metallic curves just a few devastating days before.

What could she possibly want, having taken everything already?

"What...what are you doing here?" June finally asked.

"June, I..." Arcee began with a static-laced voice, only to fall silent. The robotic woman closed her eyes and released what could have been construed as a shuddering sigh, her grip about herself tightening noticeably. When she spoke again, her voice was firm. "June, I just wanted to apologise – I promised you that I would keep Jack safe, and I didn't. I will never forgive myself for that. But I want to make a new promise, one that I will keep."

Arcee's eyes opened again and June found herself looking away, that unknown emotion threatening to spill over. What use were promises when they were only going to be broken; it was a lesson she had been forced to learn the hard way and now it seemed that all the universe had in store for her was more empty words.

No new promise was going to bring back her son.

"June," Arcee continued, raising a hand to her chest, "I promise you, I _will_ kill Airachnid for this. I _will_ get revenge for what she has done."

Something seemed to pop inside June and suddenly there was no sound in the world except those cold, harsh words. Revenge?

Did she want revenge?

And moreover, did she blame Airachnid?

June turned her back on Arcee, clenching her fists as she hugged herself tightly. Tears once again threatened to flow down her cheeks but this time she fought them, instead focussing on that small, flickering _something_ deep within.

And then she recognised it. Hatred.

Hatred for the one that had killed her son; hatred for the one that sat behind her, waiting for some kind of sign that it was all okay, that she was forgiven for what she had done.

"No," June hissed, turning around to face the monster again. "I do not accept your apology."

"I...June, please I..." Arcee stuttered in surprise, her optics widening as she sat up on her knees and reached a hand out to June in desperation.

But the robot's guilt meant nothing to the mother as she let the hatred flow out, words letting the venom from her veins. "I do not accept your apology and I do not want to hear your empty promises. I don't blame Airachnid, Arcee. I blame _you_. _You_ are the one that put Jack in danger; _you_ are the one that crushed him. He was a _boy_, and you let him follow you into your war without a second thought. I will never forgive you for that."

The look of pain and fear on Arcee's face meant nothing to June as she watched the Cybertronian fall back on her aft and slide backwards, her lips moving silently as she struggled to respond. She could see the moonlight playing over the blue and silver armour and once again began to wonder if the stains of Jack's death were still there, hidden in the darkness.

Of course they were.

They would always be there.

June turned away as Arcee began to speak, no longer willing to hear her words. She moved towards the bedside table and took hold of the cell phone that had been left at her side, dialling the only number that had been programmed into the address book.

The phone on the other line was already ringing when June turned to face Arcee again, meeting those burning blue eyes with nothing but emptiness.

_To be continued._

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><p><em>A very big thank you to everyone who has read, favourite-d and reviewed, I really appreciate it. And a big hug and thanks to Taipan Kiryu, for again clearing my head and reassuring me that I'm on the right track. <em>


	6. Watching, Waiting

_Well, I knew it had been a while since I'd last updated this fic, but I didn't realise until this morning that it had been quite so long...sorry guys! It's by no means the longest chapter I've ever written, or the most action-packed, but it sets things up for the rollercoaster ride that's about to begin._

_So, let's get on with it, shall we? Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

**Watching, Waiting**

"Where is she, Prime?"

Optimus Prime's cold, blue eyes betrayed no emotion as he shifted his attention from the swirling portal of the ground bridge before him to the diminutive form of Agent Fowler standing on a gantry a few mechanometres to his left.

"You know the guys from the White House aren't going to accept your excuses; they want answers and they want them now."

"I understand that," the ancient mech replied calmly, "and I can assure you that Arcee will comply with her summons."

"She'd better, or it'll be both our butts on the line."

The Prime's attention returned to the ground bridge, the dancing green light illuminating the darkened hangar ominously. He hadn't spoken falsely to the human, however, as he checked his internal chronometre for the umpteenth time that night he couldn't avoid the feeling of worry from sweeping over him.

Arcee wasn't going to come without a fight.

"_Ratchet, shut it down,"_ Optimus commanded via his com link, not bothering to announce his intent to human ears.

"_Optimus, wouldn't it be better—"_

"_There is no point delaying the inevitable, Ratchet. Shut it down. I will advise you of our next move in due course."_

"_As you wish," _the Chief Medical Officer replied, the portal disappearing without fanfare.

"Hey, what's deal with shutting the bridge down?" Fowler exclaimed heatedly, gesturing wildly. "You just told me she was coming!"

Optimus suppressed the need to sigh as he turned once again to face his human companion, the weight of his role threatening to crush his patience and composure like the boy who had lost his life just a few days ago. It was one thing to deal with his soldiers – at least he understood their failings and had learned to address them accordingly – but the humans? They were so..._unpredictable_.

"Agent Fowler," he said with an air of authority, "you have my word that Arcee will appear before your superiors, and will accept any penalty placed upon her."

"You got that ri—"

"However," the Prime continued, ignoring the interruption. "It needs to be established that Arcee is not a criminal. Her actions may have been misguided, but her intentions have always been good. The White House will get its investigation, and it will get its answers, but Arcee is not to be treated like a criminal unless proof of guilt can be found. She has been sorely affected by Jack's passing, and needs time to heal physically and mentally."

"That's all well and good for you to say, Prime, but you're not the one who has to break the bad news to his superiors!" Agent Fowler's brow furrowed, his clenched hands bouncing uneasily on the handrail, manifesting his annoyance. "I get that you want to protect one of your own, but a simple cover-up just ain't gonna cut it this time. Prime, a few damaged buildings or injured soldiers are one thing, but a dead civilian, and a _child_ no less..."

"I understand that, Agent Fowler. But _you_ must understand—"

"Ugh, just hold on a minute, Prime," Fowler interrupted again, this time to answer the mobile phone vibrating near silently in his hand.

Optimus remained silent and unmoving as the human stormed off along the gantry, his usually booming voice hushed in an attempt to vet the conversation. For the first time in eons he felt powerless, lost amongst the political plays of an organic race he didn't fully understand, forced to act on a situation that couldn't be ignored.

Arcee's reaction had been predictable for all involved; no amount of reassurance had fully convinced Agent Fowler or his superiors that she would comply with her summons. Still, he had made a promise on her behalf, and Optimus knew that, given time, Arcee would find her way back to the right path.

Time, however, was something she didn't have on her side anymore.

Optimus clenched his hand briefly, stifling another sigh in the process. It was frustrating being caught in the middle; the humans demanding their answers on one side and Arcee and her demons on the other. He didn't want to have to send someone after her, in her current frame of mind she would only see it as a threat and likely attack anyone that approached her. Yet he knew the patience of Fowler's superiors was waning rapidly, his ability to stall them approaching its limits.

Although he wouldn't admit it to anyone but himself, the Prime was fearful of what lay ahead. Arcee's sanity had always been a fragile thing, pushed to the brink of fracture on more than one occasion. Now, in the aftermath of losing her third partner, Optimus wasn't sure if she was strong enough to face the consequences.

Still, he could not deny that she had been the one to place Jack's life in danger; she had been the one that led the boy to his death...

Like it or not, she had some explaining to do.

Heavy footfalls brought the Prime out of his inner reverie, Agent Fowler approaching with a haste that set his spark flaring.

"Prime, Arcee has just been located at the Darby residence. She is now in direct breach of our instructions; I'm sorry Prime, but I have orders to bring her in."

The Prime felt his shoulders slump as he realised the decision about Arcee had been taken from his hands. But what had he expected, allowing her to disappear as she had and calling off any attempts to follow her?

His optics dimmed slightly as he nodded once in assent. "Understood," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

* * *

><p>The road stretched out like a black ribbon before her, the slick tarmac both friend and enemy as it pierced the breaking dawn. Pale, pink light touched the jagged mountains rising up on the horizon, the dark shadows amongst them the only source of hope she had left as she pushed herself onwards.<p>

Within those shadows she would find reprieve.

Within those shadows, she would find the one she would kill.

Another red flag popped up in her HUD, warning her of her urgent need to refuel and rest. Yet, like all of those that had come before it, it went ignored.

"_I blame __you."_

The words had been laced to hurt her, Arcee understood that. And they had hit home too, stinging like the burns that still marred her protoform. But, as the cool morning air caressed her altmode softly, she also found that she understood the truth behind those words.

June was grieving, and grief – her own ever-constant companion – always cast the universe in a shrouded light. It was obvious now, as the sun began to breach the horizon; June had spoken without thought.

Of course June wanted revenge – of course; how could it be any other way?

Adjusting her rear view mirrors, Arcee watched as the harshening sunlight glanced off the two dark forms lingering in the distance, spectres of her past in the shape of the enemy. They had been there for hours now, tailing her with uncertain intentions, but there was no denying who they were.

June had set them on her, after all.

They maintained a steady pace, keeping an even distance as they traversed the lonely road behind her with obvious purpose. The sense of betrayal they brought with them cut to the very core of Arcee's being, and for a moment she felt her systems falter, overwhelmed by the weight of it all.

But what had she expected, approaching the grieving woman as she had?

Forgiveness?

There was no such thing in such a cruel universe as this.

She allowed herself to slow, feeling the road pull at her treads as if to encourage her to stop. The invitation was resisted, but eventually accepted, forcing her to transform and stand in the middle of the road without realisation.

It had only been a matter of time, Arcee realised belatedly; they would have found her regardless of June's help. Her own comrades – her family – had condemned her before June had even stepped into the picture; her appointment with government and military officials a thinly veiled excuse to see her taken away in chains.

She knew they blamed her, as much as June did.

Still, the two black cars continued to gain distance on her, the metaphoric crossroads approaching faster than she would have liked. Arcee knew that, had he been there, Optimus would have wanted her to surrender. But if the war had taught her one thing, it was that surrender wasn't an option for those who wanted to survive.

The command to unsheathe her blades danced lightly through her systems, tormenting her will like the grief that plagued her spark. She had always been a fighter, fighting the enemy with the same hatred that she fought herself, her two foes one in the same.

She was conscious of the fact that it would be easy to destroy her pursuers, their flimsy vehicles and delicate flesh nothing compared with the skills and weaponry she possessed. It was a harrowing thought as the human connection was made between the approaching militia and her lost partner; the fragility of their existence never so clear.

Arcee felt her anger shift, the emotion so strong it set her stumbling backwards like a physical blow. Why had she let Jack win her over; why hadn't she fought harder, as her instincts had told her from the very start? The thought made her empty tanks churn, her weakness for the boy exposing yet another of her failings.

Just like Tailgate; just like Cliffjumper.

Her spark began to pulse harder in her chest as the sun continued to rise, the soft hues of daybreak giving way to a cold, empty blue. The time for action was fast approaching, yet Arcee found herself paralysed with uncertainty and grief, lost like so many times before.

Still, the blades in her arms remained locked away, the desire to fight suddenly shrinking away like a warrior defeated. What was the point, after all; if she chose to attack, or even defend, what would it achieve in the end? The humans would send others; they would always send others.

There was only one option left now to save herself, the same option that had kept her fighting for all those dark millennia following Tailgate's demise. She turned her optics away from her pursuers and transformed again, forcing the pain of the action out of her mind.

The humans would have to wait.

_To be continued._

* * *

><p><em>The next couple of months are going to be pretty hectic on my end, which means that a quick update is rather unlikely. Still, I have a good idea of what comes next, and will do my best to make sure you're not kept waiting too long.<em>

_As always, I'd like to send a big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, favourite, follow and review, it's an honour and a pleasure to share with you all._

_And of course, a huge thanks to Taipan Kiryu, for once again helping me with the difficult decisions :) _


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